No Regrets
by RiddleKitty
Summary: Otto Octavius continues to grapple with his insecurities. Meanwhile, Adrian Toomes decides some risks are well worth taking.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from the show.

Found this unfinished chunk of an idea sitting on my hard drive. Seems like a good time to finish it!

* * *

**No Regrets**

When the phone rang, Otto was more than reluctant to answer. And for good reason—Adrian. The fiasco that morning had left the both of them considerably upset, though Otto had an unspoken requirement not to show any hint of discomfort for the sake of his job.

Both of them had been betrayed by Norman Osborn. Manipulated. Humiliated. It had disturbed Otto to witness firsthand just how cold Osborn could be. How ruthless and deceptive. And yet, it had been so very intriguing.

Osborn had stolen Adrian's designs and made them his own, that much would be clear to anyone with half a brain in their head. He had simply altered them slightly, slapped his pompous OsCorp logo all over them, and then all but laughed in Adrian's face when accused of blatant treachery.

Otto had to admit, in another world, he would have been impressed by Osborn's sheer audacity. But he despised the man. Oh, how he despised him. He had reason on top of reason to loathe Norman Osborn, and this recent incident added only another twist of the knife in his gut.

It pained him to think about how easily Osborn cheated Adrian out of his chance at recognition, out of financial comfort. Adrian was an old man. He'd never get another opportunity like the one he could have had, if only Norman Osborn hadn't been a disgusting walking viper of a man. It pained him far worse for having been the cause of it all. He had only wanted to help his friend. Yet, as with everything in his life, all he'd done was make a spectacular mess of things.

He hated feeling so disgustingly helpless, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing but stammer out an apology and hope someday Adrian would forgive his poor judgement. His foolishness, his lack of spine. Poor spineless Otto. Little Otto, the walking, talking doormat. If only he could have done something. If only he could have said something.

At least Adrian had stopped blaming him for the betrayal after Osborn's shameless display of arrogance. But he also knew better than anyone how Adrian held grudges. Thirty years, and Adrian still hadn't forgiven former associate Gregory Bestman for stealing away some woman when they were in college. Odds were he would take his hatred of Norman Osborn right to the grave.

The phone rang a fifth time, snapping Otto back to cruel reality. The caller I.D.'s flashing red light drew his eyes. _Pick up. Pick up. Pick up, _it screamed_. Pick up, you pusillanimous weakling._

Otto reached for the phone. His hand hovered. Backed away. Reached again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he'd had his arms on. Everything went easier with those magnificent arms. They made him feel so very confident. How depressing to realize just how weak he felt without them.

So pitifully weak.

"Enough!"

The utterance, barely above a whisper, gave him the mental push he so desperately needed. Otto grabbed the phone and held it to his ear.

"He-hel-hello?"

"Hello, Otto," Adrian's surprisingly calm voice poured through the receiver.

* * *

"Adrian, I-I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to... turn out this way."

Otto's voice trailed off, leaving Adrian with a familiar silence.

Five rings. Poor boy. Adrian had envisioned Otto standing there at the phone, panicking, rehearsing what he would say. The saddest thing was, it hadn't been too far off.

Otto had become so predictable. Adrian tried to be accommodating to his dear friend, but that doormat of a personality he had could be so aggravating at times. Otto happened to be an exceptionally brilliant human being, and yet he couldn't see for himself how he deserved better. Far better than the likes of Oscorp. It sickened Adrian to think of all that potential being wasted as a lab rat for that shameless bloodsucker, Osborn.

Adrian glanced at the clock on his desk. Couldn't make this conversation too long. He had an appointment to keep.

"Actually, Otto, I called to apologize to you."

Brief silence. "W-what? B-but... what for?"

"I shouldn't have blamed you to begin with. I was mistaken to think I could ever trust a man like Osborn," said Adrian, his eyes falling to the framed photo of himself in better times. Times when he was blissfully ignorant of how the world worked. Back when he had dreams, and thought he could truly realize them one day. "But that flight harness is very special to me. As much as I loathe to admit, it truly is the one accomplishment I have to my name."

"Of course, Adrian. I... I understand that. It's been your life's work. You yourself told me it's been a dream of yours since you were a boy."

"Yes," Adrian said, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "A dream." Those days of childish naïvety seemed so far behind. He had grown old enough to understand that everything in life was about money and power, not living out dreams. "But that's all it was."

"B-but Adrian... you can't just give it all up! It was-"

"Spare me the emotional support, Otto," Adrian said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "But, back to the point, I do realize you meant well when you suggested I bring my most prized creation to OsCorp Industries. A shame it didn't work out the way we'd hoped for."

Adrian got up and walked toward the large window of his darkened office. With his free hand, he pulled back the curtains. Warm midday sunlight streamed in.

"Despite your shortcomings, you've always been a good friend to me, Otto. And I truly appreciate that. I've never had many people whom I felt I could honestly trust."

"Adrian, I..."

Again, silence.

Adrian slid the window open. A strong wind rushed in.

"Are you near a window?" Otto gasped, his voice a horrified whisper. Adrian found it somewhat comical. "Are-are you all right, Adrian? I know you haven't been feeling well lately, and with the recent stress-"

"I'm _fine_, Otto. Stop worrying. Believe me, I intend to live as long a life as possible, even if it has to be with the knowledge that thieving pile of garbage Norman Osborn is making a fortune off me."

Adrian stepped out on the ledge, gently shooing away a few gathered pigeons with his foot.

"If anything, you should worry about your own health. How often have I told you, it's not good for a man your size and weight to bottle up so many years of emotional baggage and pretend like it doesn't exist, simply to appease your simpleton superiors."

"I... I know that. But..."

A blast of cool air swept past him, bringing with it the scent of the city and the familiar adrenaline rush he so desperately craved in his aging years. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a content smile breaking across his lips. On the other end of the cell, Otto mumbled on. Adrian focused on the beautiful skyline, spread out so invitingly before him. Vast and limitless, accessible only to those with wings.

"-ear me, Adrian?"

"Hmm?" Adrian wrestled his attention back to the phone. The pigeons took off as the flight harness on his back hummed to life. "What was that, Otto? I didn't quite hear you. Bad reception."

"I said that... that I'd talk to Mr. Osborn about this. I feel obligated to, after what he did to you. He was wrong. So very wrong."

"Don't trouble yourself, Otto. Unlike _you_, I'm perfectly capable of speaking my mind."

Adrian could practically feel Otto wincing on the other end of the line. An uncalled for jab, yes, but every time that name came up, his blood boiled. Contrary to the advice he regularly gave Otto, his own calm demeanor belied much long contained aggression. Better to shave some excess off before he left, lest he lose control. No room for mistakes now.

"In fact, I was just about to confront Osborn again, and I plan on giving him a much larger piece of my mind than I did this morning," Adrian said, his tone hinted with malevolence. "This time around, he'll definitely see things from my point of view."

Otto's voice lowered once again. "Oh dear. Adrian... You... y-you aren't going to do anything rash, are you?"

"Rash, Otto? _Logical_, is more like it!"

The talons on Adrian's footwear slid out. He looked them over gleefully before retracting them with but a thought. Everything was in perfect working order.

"Vermin like Osborn need to feel _threatened_ once in a while. Otherwise they think they can step on anybody they want and get away with it! Well, today, Norman Osborn is going to learn a valuable lesson in humility. He'll learn that no matter how high profile he is in this city, it doesn't give him the right to steal my invention and resell it as his own. He will apologize to me or face the consequences!"

Otto's voice barely registered above a frenzied whisper. "Adrian, I-I... I implore you to reconsider! At least until you've calmed down!"

"I am calm, Otto," Adrian soothed, resting his weight against the wall, arms folded. For a man about to gamble his physical well-being on revenge, he certainly was. At least he thought so. He switched the cell to his other hand, glancing at the digital clock ticking away in the corner before placing it back to his ear. "And my mind has long since been made up. Norman Osborn will _regret _stealing from me!"

"Octavius, what have I told you about personal calls during work hours?"

Adrian bristled, his former tranquility undone in a heartbeat. That voice, absolutely dripping with pretentiousness. The smug face of Norman Osborn filled Adrian's vision, along with memories of that patronizing voice ridiculing his credibility, assuming him nothing more than a senile fool. He wouldn't stand for such an indignity.

"Mr. Osborn, I-I-I am sorry! I just had to, ah... take a very i-i-important call!"

Adrian snorted, shaking his head. "Don't strain yourself, Otto," he said with a soft chuckle. "I'll let you get back to licking that boot."

Otto came back after a moment's pause, his voice a barely audible panicked whisper. "Please, Adrian! You're just going to talk with him, r-right? A civilized conversation?!"

Adrian sighed softly. "Yes, Otto. A civilized conversation."

Nothing said one couldn't have a civilized conversation several hundred feet above ground.

"Goodbye, Otto."

His thumb hit the disconnect button before Otto could utter any more alarmed protests. He casually released the cell phone from his grasp, paying no attention as it plummeted forty-seven stories to the concrete below and shattered.

Adrian chuckled again. Poor little Otto. Osborn had stepped on him for so long, the man had Otto practically stuck to the bottom of his ridiculously overpriced sole. If anything, Otto should have cheered him on with his desire to crush Osborn. Deep down, he knew Otto wanted to see it too. It was one of the many things they had in common, as of yet unexpressed fully on Otto's part. But perhaps one day, Otto would get pushed beyond his limits. Not that he truly wished it, but sometimes he did wonder. Otto had to have something twisted and vengeful hiding under all that crippling self-doubt and years of abuse by his peers.

Nothing would make the two of them happier than to see Norman Osborn put in his place. Or perhaps put in a grave. Whichever way suited Adrian just fine.

Unless Otto managed to grow a spine within the next few minutes and warn Osborn of their conversation, Adrian's plan could not be stopped. What was once a mere fantasy—a daydream he entertained throughout so many sleepless nights—would soon be reality. Norman Osborn, at his mercy.

His jaw clenched and left fist balled tight, Adrian snarled with the utmost hatred dripping from his words: "You're _mine_, Osborn."

Adrian lifted his arms to the sides, allowing his wings to take form. He took a moment to admire his reflection in the window. There he was, a sinister avian menace. Despite his slim, aged form, he did look rather imposing while wearing the flight suit. More so, now that it had been custom tailored by his own hands to be positively deadly in addition to aesthetically pleasing. He smiled, wondering whether he should have gone with green instead of red. Red did look a bit more striking.

"What was it you called me, Osborn? A vulture?" Adrian considered it for a moment. "Hmmm." He threw his head back and laughed, arms and wings raised high. "Well, if the name fits!"

The Vulture.

It did have a nice ring to it. Even better, they were one of his favorite birds. Tragically misunderstood creatures, perceived by the masses as unintelligent, hideous in appearance and generally foul in nature. They were known as bringers of disease, harbingers of misfortune and—most often of all—symbols of death.

That was one stereotype he wouldn't mind upholding.

Having proudly embraced his new moniker, Adrian stepped off the ledge, letting the wind current catch him. He spread his wings out and flew over the city, headed for the Osborn penthouse, where the doomed CEO of Oscorp was to arrive shortly.


End file.
